Saturday, August 17, 2013

Wild Horse © Trish Beckwith



Aloft the wind
I ride the night sky
I see the world through a much different eye

Power, beauty
Strength and grace
I feel the spirits of ancestral space

Pride of herd
Sisters and brothers
I live ever watchful standing by others

A kaleidoscope of colors
No two ever the same
The short, the tall, the long of mane

I know the chance
I know the fear
I live on the edge for death crouches near

On my back I carry a load
Through storm and calm
Ever vigilant and bold

I have died in battle
Killed by man
Hunted by predator as I roamed the land

No more room
Not enough grazing
Captured, shot, sold by pound on bills of lading

Yet I survive
Sometimes an insurmountable course
I am feral, I am Mustang, I am Wild Horse



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